


The Bat Masqueraders

by DeadFoxy26



Series: Heyer Regency AUs [2]
Category: The Masqueraders - Georgette Heyer, Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Artemis and Robin are siblings, BAMF Alfred, Con Artists, F/M, Mistaken Identity, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 01:28:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13470825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadFoxy26/pseuds/DeadFoxy26
Summary: My second adaptation of Georgette Heyer's fantastic books, this time with a little DC Universe spin on things. Drama, star-crossed lovers, intrigue and humour abound.





	1. A Damsel in Distress

**Author's Note:**

> Much like my first rewrite of a Heyer novel, this one was inspired solely because Robin Tremaine reminded me of Dick Grayson and his Robin persona. I don't own anything except the way that I have mashed these two fandoms together.

CHAPTER I   
A LADY IN DISTRESS  
It had begun to rain an hour ago, a fine driving mist with the sky grey above. The gentleman riding beside the chaise surveyed the clouds placidly. ‘Faith, it’s a wonderful climate,’ he remarked of no one in particular.  
The dignified serving man who rode some paces to the rear spurred up to him. ‘Best put up for the night, sir,’ he suggested. ‘There’s an inn a mile or two on.’  
The window of the chaise was let down with a clatter, and a lady looked out. ‘Child, you’ll be wet,’ she said to her cavalier. ‘How far to Happy Harbour?’  
The serving man rode up close to the chaise. ‘Another few hours, ma’am. I’m saying we’d best put up for the night.’  
‘I’d as soon make Happy Harbour, for all it’s plaguily damp.’  
‘There’s an inn close by, as I remember,’ the servant repeated, addressing himself to the lady.  
‘En avant, then. Produce me the inn,’ the lady said. ‘Give you joy of your country, Lawrence, my little man.’  
The gentleman laughed. ‘Oh, it’s a comforting spot, Robin.’  
The inn came soon into sight, a square white house glimmering through the dusk. There were lights in the windows, and a post-chaise drawn up in the court before it.  
The gentleman came lightly down from the saddle. He was of medium height, and carried himself well. He had a neat leg encased in a fine riding boot, and a slender hand in an embroidered gauntlet.  
There was straightaway a bustle at the inn. An ostler came running; mine host appeared in the porch with a bow and a scrape and a waiting man sped forth to assist in letting down the steps of the chaise.   
‘Two bedchambers, for myself and my sister,’ said the gentleman. ‘Dinner, and a private room.’  
Consternation was in the landlord’s face. ‘Bedchambers, sir. Yes – on the instant! Tula, the two best bedchambers and fires to be lit in them!’ A serving maid went scuttling off. ‘Sir, the private room!’ Mine host bowed, and spread a pair of deprecating hands. ‘But this moment, sir, it was bespoken by a lady and a gentleman travelling north.’ He looked slyly, and cast down his eyes. ‘But they stay only for dinner, sir, and if your honour and the lady would condescend to the coffee room -? There’s never a soul likely to come tonight, and ‘twill be private enough.’  
There was a rustle of skirts. My lady came down from the chaise with a hand on her servant’s shoulder. ‘The coffee room or any other so I get out of this wet!’ she cried, and swept into the inn with her cavalier behind her.  
They found themselves straight in a comfortable large room. There was a table set, and a wood fire burning in the hearth. A door led out into a passage at the back, where the stairs rose steeply, and another to one side, giving on to the taproom.  
A trim girl in a mob cap brought more candles, and dropped a shy curtsey to the lady. ‘If you please, my lady, should I take your ladyship’s cloak? Your ladyship’s abigail…?’  
‘Alack, the creature’s not with me!’ mourned Madam Robin. ‘Take the cloak to my chamber, child. So!’ She put back the hood from her head, and untied the strings round her throat. The cloak was given to the maid; Madam stood in a taffety gown of blue spread over a wide hoop. She wore her dark ringlets ‘en demie toilette,’ free from powder, with a blue ribbon threaded through, and a couple of curls allowed to fall over her shoulder. The maid thought her a prodigiously lovely lady and bobbed another curtsey before she went away with the cloak.  
My lady’s brother gave his three-cornered hat into his servant’s keeping, and struggled out of his greatcoat. He was much his sister’s height, a little taller perhaps, and like enough to her in appearance. His hair was a fair blonde, however, confined demurely at the neck by a black riband; and his eyes were dark in the candlelight. Young he seemed, for his cheek was innocent of all but the faintest down; but he had a square shoulder, and a good chin, rounded but purposeful enough. The landlord, following him into the coffee room, was profuse in apologies and obeisances, for he recognised a member of the Quality. The lady wore a fine silk gown, and Mr Crock a modish coat of green velvet, with gold lacing, and a quantity of Mechlin lace at his throat and wrists. A pretty pair, in all, with the easy ways of the Quality, and a humorous look about the eyes that made them much alike. The landlord began to talk of capons and his best burgundy, and was sent off to produce them.  
Miss Crock sat down by the fire, and stretched one in its buckled shoe to the blaze. There was a red heel to her shoe, and marvellous embroidered clocks to her silken stockings. ‘So!’ said Miss Crock. ‘How do you, my Lawrence?’   
‘I don’t melt in a shower of rain, I believe,’ Lawrence said, and sat down on the edge of the table, swinging one booted leg.  
‘No, faith, child, there’s much too much of you for that.’  
The gentleman’s rich chuckle sounded. ‘I’m sufficiently substantial, in truth,’ he remarked. An emerald ring glowed on one of his long, tanned fingers, while on the other he wore a big gold seal ring. A smile crept into his eyes and lurked at the corners of his mouth. ‘I’d give something to know where the old gentleman is,’ he said.  
‘Safe enough, I’ll be bound,’ Madam answered, and laughed. ‘It’s the devil himself, I believe, and will appear in Happy Harbour to snap his fingers under the noses of all King Luther’s men.’  
‘Fie, Robin: my poor, respected papa!’ Mr Crock was not shocked. A faint crease showed between his brows. ‘For all he named Happy Harbour – egad, ‘tis like his impudence! – it’s odds he’s gone to Metropolis.’  
‘I don’t permit myself to hope too much,’ said Miss Crock, with a smile at once dreamy and a little impish. ‘He’ll be there to lead us another of his mad chases. If not… I’ve a mind to try our own fortunes.’  
‘In truth, I’ve a kindness for the old gentleman,’ said Mr Crock pensively. ‘His chases lead somewhere.’  
‘To lost causes.’ There was a hint of bitterness in the tone.  
Mr Crock looked up. ‘Ay, you’ve taken it to heart.’  
‘Not I.’ Robin jerked a shoulder as though to shake something off. ‘We went into it – egad, why did we go into it?’  
‘Ask the old gentleman,’ said Mr Crock, the slow smile creeping up again. ‘He had a crusading fervour, belike.’  
Robin drew down the corners of her mouth. ‘It’s a pleasing image. He meant it for a ‘beau geste,’ I dare swear. And we? Well, I suppose we went willy nilly into the net.’  
‘I don’t regret it. The old gentleman meddled in Cadmus’ affairs, but we came out of that net.’  
‘That was in the nature of adventuring. This –‘ Robin paused. ‘Bah, I hate lost causes! It was different.’  
‘For you?’ Mr Crock lifted an eyebrow. ‘Did you want the Prince, child?’  
‘We fought for him while it lasted. He had the right. But now it’s over, and Luther’s made a shambles of the North, and there are those who died on the Watchtower, while we – we try our fortunes, and the old gentleman weaves us a fresh net. I believe I’ll turn respectable.’  
‘Alack, we were made for sobriety!’ said Mr Crock.  
Came the landlord, and a serving maid with dinner. Covers were laid, and a cork drawn. Miss Crock and her brother sat down to fat capons and a generous pasty. They were left presently toying with sweetmeats and their wine. The maid bore off all that remained of the capons through the door that led into the passage. The door was left ajar and allowed a glimpse of another door, across the passage-way. From behind it came the sound of a lady’s voice raised in protest.  
‘I won’t, I tell you!’ it said. ‘I won’t!’  
There came the sound of another voice, half coaxing, half bullying; then the lady cried out again, on a hysterical note of panic. ‘I won’t go with you! You sh-shan’t elope with me against my will! Take me home! Oh please, Klarion, take me home!’  
Miss Crock looked at her brother. He got up, and went unhurriedly to the door, and stood listening.  
The man’s voice was raised now in anger. ‘By Chaos, Zatanna, you shan’t fool me like that!’  
Following on a crash from behind the closed door as of a fist banged on the table, came a choked, imploring murmur.  
‘No!’ barked the man’s voice. ‘If I have to gag you, you’ll go, Zatanna! D’you think I’m fool enough to let you slip through my fingers now?’  
Mr Crock turned his head. ‘My dear, I believe I don’t like the noisy gentleman,’ he said calmly.  
Madam Robin listened to a cry of: ‘My papa will come! I won’t marry you, oh, I won’t!’ and faint frown was between her eyes.  
There came the sound of a strident laugh. Evidently the gentleman had been drinking. ‘I think you will,’ he said significantly.  
Miss Crock bit one finger nail. ‘It seems we must interfere, my Lawrence.’  
Lawrence looked rueful, and drew his sword a little way out of the scabbard.  
‘No, no, child, put up!’ said Madam, laughing. ‘We know a trick worth two of that. We must have the fox out of his earth, though.’  
‘Stay you there,’ said her brother, and went out into the courtyard, and called to Alfred, his servant.  
Alfred came.  
‘Who’s the owner of the post-chaise, Alfred?’ inquired Mr Crock.  
The answer was severe. ‘It’s a Mr Teekl, sir, running off with a rich heiress, so they say. And the lady not out of her teens. There’s wickedness!’  
‘Alfred’s propriety is offended,’ murmured Miss Crock. ‘We will dispose, Alfred, since God seems unwilling. I want a stir made.’  
‘Best not meddle,’ said Alfred phlegmatically. ‘We’ve meddled enough.’  
‘A cry of fire,’ mused Mr Crock. ‘Fire or footpads. Where do I lie hid?’  
‘Oh, are you with me already?’ admired Robin. ‘Let me have a fire, Alfred, or a parcel of daring footpads, and raise the ostlers.’  
Alfred fetched a sigh. ‘We’ve played that trick once before. Will you never be still?’  
Mr Crock laughed. ‘It’s a beauty in distress, Alfred, and Robin must be up and doing.’  
With the glimmering of a grim smile, Alfred went out. Arose presently in the courtyard a shout, and a glow, and quickly uproar.  
‘Now I wonder how he made that fire?’ said Miss Crock, amused.  
‘There’s a shed and some straw. Enough for Alfred. Well, it’s a fine stir.’ Mr Crock went to the window. ‘Mine host leads the household out in force. The wood’s so damp ‘twill be out in a moment. Do your part, sister.’ Mr Crock vanished into the deserted taproom.  
Miss Crock added then to the stir by a scream, close followed by another, and a cry of: ‘Fire, fire! Help, oh help!’  
The door across the passage was burst open, and a dark gentleman strode out. ‘What in hell’s name-?’ he began. His face was handsome in the swarthy style, but flushed now with wine. His eye lighted on Miss Crock, and a smell of burning assailed his nostrils. ‘What’s the noise? Gad, is the place on fire?’ He came quickly into the coffee room, and received Miss Crock in his unwilling arms. Miss Crock neatly tripped up her chair, and with a moan of ‘Save me!’ collapsed on to Mr Teekl’s chest.  
He grasped the limp form perforce, and found it a dead weight on his arm. His companion, a slim child of no more than sixteen, ran to the window. ‘Oh, ‘tis only an old shed caught fire away to the right!’ she said.  
Mr Teekl strove to restore the fainting Miss Crock. ‘Compose yourself, madam! For Chaos’ sake, no vapours! There’s no danger. Damnation, Zatanna, pick the chair up!’  
Miss Zatanna came away from the window towards Miss Crock’s fallen chair. Mr Teekl was tightly clasping that unconscious lady, wrath at his own helpless predicament adding to the already rich colour in his face.  
‘The devil take the woman, she weighs a ton!’ swore Mr Teekl. ‘Pick the chair up, I say!’  
Miss Zatanna bent to take hold of it. She heard a door open behind her, and turning saw Mr Crock.  
Of a sudden Miss Crock came to life. In round-eyed astonishment Miss Zatanna saw that lady no longer inanimate, but seemingly struggling to be free.  
Mr Crock was across the floor in a moment.  
‘Unhand my sister, sir!’ cried he in a wonderful fury.  
Miss Crock was thrust off. ‘Chaos take it, ‘twas herself –‘ began Mr Teekl, but got no further. His chin came into sudden contact with Mr Crock’s sword hilt, nicely delivered, and Mr Teekl fell heavily all amongst the table legs.  
‘Oh, neatly done, i’faith!’ vowed Miss Crock. ‘Down like an ox, as I live! Set the coach forward, Lawrence, and you, child, upstairs with you to my chamber.’  
Miss Zatanna’s hand was caught in a firm clasp. Quite bewildered she was swirled away by the competent Miss Crock.  
Miss Crock’s brother put up his sword, and went out into the court. Alfred seemed to rise up out of the gloom to meet him. ‘All well, sir?’  
Mr Crock nodded. ‘Where’s the dear gentleman’s chaise, Alfred?’  
Alfred jerked a thumb over his shoulder.  
‘Horses put to?’ inquired Mr Crock.  
‘Yes, sir, they’re ready to be off. The men are in the taproom – it’s dry they are after the great fire. There’s an ostler to the horses’ heads.’  
‘I don’t want that ostler there,’ said Mr Crock. ‘Drive the chaise away and hide it somewhere where the gentleman won’t find it too soon.’  
‘Hide a chaise and horses, is it?’ Alfred growled.  
‘It is, Alfred,’ said Mr Crock serenely. ‘Tell that ostler that I want a horse saddled on the instant. One of our own, if need be. I shall set the dear gentleman after you, Alfred. God speed you.’  
‘Ah, it’s a mad couple you are!’ said Alfred, but he moved away to where the lights of the chaise shone. Mr Crock heard him give the order to the ostler, and offer to hold the horses’ heads. He heard the ostler run off to the stables and himself turned back into the coffee room smiling placidly.  
Miss Crock had come downstairs again and was standing by the fallen Mr Teekl calmly surveying him.  
‘Well, child, is it done?’ she asked.  
The clatter of horses and the rumble of wheels on the cobbles answered her. Alfred was off; they heard the chaise roll away down the road to Happy Harbour. Miss Crock laughed and dropped her brother a mock curtsey. ‘My compliments, child. It’s you have the head, indeed. Now what to do for the poor gentleman? Water, my Lawrence, and a napkin. Observe me all solicitude.’ She sank down on to the floor, and lifted Mr Teekl’s head into her lap. Mr Crock was chuckling again as he handed her the water, and a napkin.  
The landlord came hurrying in, and stared in horror at what he saw. ‘Sir – madam! The gentleman’s coach is off! Oh law, madam! The gentleman!’  
‘Off is it?’ Mr Crock was interested. ‘Tut, tut! And the lady in it, belike?’  
The landlord’s jaw dropped. ‘Ay, that would be it! But what’s come to the gentleman, sir? Good lord, sir, never say –‘  
‘The poor gentleman!’ said Miss Crock, holding a wet napkin to Mr Teekl’s brow. ‘’Twas the drink turned the head on his shoulders, I dare swear. An accident, host. I believe he won’t die of it.’  
‘A warning to all abductors,’ said Mr Crock piously.  
A gleam of understanding shot into the landlord’s eyes. ‘Sir, he’ll be raving mad when he comes to.’  
‘A warning to you, good fellow, not to be by,’ said Mr Crock.  
There was significance in Mr Crock’s voice. It occurred to mine host that the less he knew of the matter, the better it might be for himself, on all sides. He went out discreetly, what time Mr Teekl gave vent to a faint groan.  
Mr Teekl came slowly back to consciousness, and opened heavy eyes. He did not at once remember much, but he was aware of a swollen jaw-bone which hurt him. A cool hand was placed upon his brow, and something wet was laid on his sore chin. He rolled his eyes upwards, groaning, and saw a fair face bent over him, framed by ebony ringlets. He stared up at it, trying to collect his bemused wits, and vaguely it seemed to him that he had seen that face before, with its fine, rather ironical blue eyes, and its curiously square chin. He blinked, and frowned in the effort to pull himself together, and saw the delicate mouth smile.  
‘Thank goodness you are better!’ came a cooing voice. ‘I have been in an agony! Dear sir, pray lie still: ‘twas a cruel blow, and oh the misunderstanding! Lawrence, a glass of wine for the gentleman! There, sir, let me but raise your head.’  
Mr Teekl allowed it, perforce, and sipped at the wine held to his lips. Some of the mists were clearing from his brain. He raised himself on his elbow, and looked round.  
‘Oh, you are much better!’ cooed the voice. ‘But gently, sir. Don’t, I implore you, overtax your strength.’  
Mr Teekl’s gaze came to rest on a flowered waistcoat. He put a hand to his head, and his eyes travelled slowly up the waistcoat to Mr Crock’s grave face. Mr Crock was on one knee, glass of wine in hand; Mr Crock looked all concern.  
Recollection came. ‘Burn it, you’re the fellow –‘ Mr Teekl’s hand went to his jaw; he glared at Lawrence Crock. ‘Did you – By Chaos, sir, did you -?’  
‘Let me help you to a chair, sir,’ said Mr Crock gently. ‘In truth, you are shaken, and no wonder. Sir, I cannot sufficiently beg your pardon.’  
Mr Teekl was on his feet now, dizzy and bewildered. ‘Was it you knocked me down, sir? Answer me that!’ he panted.  
‘Alas, sir, I did!’ said Mr Crock. ‘I came in to find my sister struggling, as I thought, in your arms. Can you blame me, sir? My action was the impulse of the moment.’  
Mr Teekl was put into a chair. He fought for words, a hand still held to his jaw. ‘Struggling? She flung herself at me in a swoon!’ he burst out.  
Miss Crock was kneeling at his feet, napkin in hand. Mr Teekl thrust it aside with an impotent snarl. ‘You have the right to be angry, sir,’ sighed Miss Crock. ‘’Twas all my folly, but oh sir, when the bustle started, and they were crying fire without I scarce knew what I did!’ Her dark head was bent in modest confusion. Mr Teekl did not heed her.  
‘Blame you? Blame you? Yes, sir, I can!’ he said wrathfully. ‘A damnable little puppy to – to –‘ Words failed him; he sat nursing his jaw and fuming.  
Mr Crock said haughtily: ‘You’re heated, sir, and I believe excusably. I don’t heed what you say therefore. I have asked your pardon for a mistake – understandable, I contend – that I made.’  
‘Puppy!’ snapped Mr Teekl, and drank off the rest of the wine in the glass. It seemed to restore him. He got up unsteadily and his hot gaze swept round again. ‘Zatanna!’ he shot out. ‘Where is the girl?’  
‘Dear sir, indeed you are not yourself yet!’ Miss Crock laid a soothing hand on his arm. ‘There is no girl here save myself.’  
She was shaken off. ‘No girl, you say?’ roared Mr Teekl, and went blundering towards the room across the passage. ‘Zatanna!’ he shouted. ‘Zatanna, I say! Hell and damnation, her cloak’s gone!’ He came back, his face dark with rage and suspicion, and caught at Mr Crock’s straight shoulder. ‘Out with it! Where is she? Where have you hidden her? You don’t trick me, my fine sir!’  
Miss Crock, hovering watchfully, cast herself between them, and clung to her brother. ‘No, no!’ she cried. ‘No swords, I do beseech you. Sir, you are raving! There is no girl here that I have seen.’  
Mr Crock pushed his sister aside. ‘But wait!’ he said slowly. ‘As I remember there was a lady in the room as I came in. A child with black hair. My sister was overwrought, sir, and maybe forgets. Yes, there was a lady.’ He looked round as though he expected to see her lurking in some corner.  
‘Damn, it won’t serve!’ cried out the infuriated Mr Teekl, and went striding off to the door that led into the taproom, calling loudly for the landlord.  
Mine host came quickly, with an uneasy look on his face. In answer to Mr Teekl’s furious query he said nervously that in the scare of the fire someone had driven off with his worship’s chaise, and he doubted but that the lady was in it.  
Mr Teekl swung round to face Lawrence Crock again, and there came a red light into his eyes, while his hand fumbled at his sword hilt. ‘Ah, you’re in this!’ he snarled.  
Mr Crock paused in the act of smoothing out his coat. ‘Your pardon, sir?’ he asked in some surprise. ‘A lady gone off in your post-chaise, and myself in it? I don’t understand you, sir. Who is the lady, and why should she go off so? Why, it’s churlish of her, I protest.’  
Mr Teekl seemed undecided. ‘It’s no business of yours,’ he said savagely. ‘But if I find ‘twas you did it – Which way did the chaise go?’  
‘To – towards Happy Harbour, sir,’ nervously answered mine host. ‘But ‘tis only what the ostler says. I didn’t see it myself, and indeed, sir –‘  
Mr Teekl said something between his teeth at which mine host cast a horrified glance at Miss Crock. The lady appeared to be unmoved. ‘Saddle me a horse at once! Where’s my hat?’  
Light dawned on Mr Crock. ‘Egad, it’s a runaway, Robin. Faith, sir, it seems my – er – impetuosity was indeed ill-timed. A horse, of course! You should be up with the chaise soon enough. A horse for the gentleman!’ Mr Crock swept out into the court, bearing mine host before him.  
‘It’s ready saddled, sir, but the ostler says the gentleman ordered it half an hour since,’ said the puzzled landlord.  
‘Saddled and ready, eh? Then see it brought round to the door, for the gentleman’s in a hurry.’  
‘Yes, sir, but how came it that the horse was bespoke when the gentleman was a-laying like one dead?’  
‘Bespoke? A ruse, man, a ruse, and your man in madam’s pay very like. Best keep your mouth shut. Ah, behold the bereft gentleman!’   
Mr Teekl cam stamping out with his hat rammed over his nose, and managed to hoist himself into the saddle with the assistance of two scared ostlers. He gathered the bridle up, and turned to glare down upon Mr Crock. ‘I’ll settle with you later,’ he promised ferociously, and setting spurs to his horse dashed off into the darkness.  
Miss Crock came out to lay a hand on her brother’s shoulder. ‘The dear gentleman!’ she remarked. ‘Very well, child, but what next?’


	2. The arrival of a large gentleman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new player enters the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I'll finish it, but I'm still going strong for now.

CHAPTER II  
ARRIVAL OF A LARGE GENTLEMAN  
Brother and sister went back into the coffee room. As they entered by one door a little figure tiptoed in at the other, and stood poised on one toe as if for flight. ‘Has he gone?’ breathed Miss Zatanna.  
It was Lawrence Crock who went forward and took the lady’s hand. ‘Why, yes, child, gone for the moment,’ he said, and led her to the fire.  
She raised a pair of large sky-blue eyes. ‘Oh, thank you, sir!’ she said. ‘And you too, dear madam.’  
Miss Crock flushed slightly, whereat the humourous look came into Lawrence’s eyes again. He looked down at Miss Zatanna gravely enough, and pulled a chair forward. ‘Sit down, madam, and let us have the story, if you please. I should desire to know how we may serve you.’  
‘You have served me,’ vowed the lady, clasping her hands in her lap. ‘My story is all folly, sir – wicked folly rising out of the most dreadful persecution.’  
‘You shock me, madam.’  
Miss Crock came to the fire, and sat down beside the little lady, who promptly caught her hand and kissed it. ‘I don’t know what I should have done without you!’ she said fervently. ‘For I had quite made up my mind I didn’t want to go with him at all. You see, I had never seen him in his cups before. It was a terrible awakening. He became altered altogether once we were out of Happy Harbour, and – and I was afraid – a little.’ She looked up blushing. ‘At home when I saw him he was so different, you see.’  
‘Do I understand, my dear, that you consented to elope with the gentleman?’ inquired Miss Crock.  
The black curls nodded vigorously. ‘I thought it would be so romantic,’ sighed Zatanna. She brightened. ‘And so it was, when you hit him,’ she added, turning to Lawrence. ‘It was positively marvellous!’  
‘Did you elope with him for the romance of it?’ asked Mr Crock, amused.  
‘That, and because of my father,’ said Zatanna. ‘And because of being bored. Oh, have you never known, ma’am, what it is to be cooped up, and kept so close that you are ready to die of boredom?’  
‘In truth, I’ve led something of a rover’s life,’ said Miss Crock. ‘But continue, child.’  
‘I am an heiress,’ announced Zatanna in despairing tones.  
‘My felicitations, ma’am,’ bowed Mr Crock.  
‘Felicitations! I wish I were a pauper, sir! If a man comes to the house my father must needs imagine he is after my money. He said that of Klarion Teekl. And indeed I think he was right,’ she said reflectively. ‘Ma’am, I think fathers are – are the veriest plague.’  
‘We have suffered, child,’ said Miss Crock.  
‘Then, ma’am, you will feel for me. My father puts a disagreeable woman to be my duenna, and I am so guarded and sheltered that there is nothing amusing ever happens to me, in spite of having been brought to town. Add to all that, ma’am, Sir Kaldur’ahm, and you will see why I had come to the pitch of doing anything only to get away!’  
‘I feel we are to deplore Sir Kaldur, Robin,’ said Mr Crock.  
‘It is not that I am not fond of him,’ Zatanna explained. ‘I have always been fond of him, but conceive being required to marry a man you have known all your life! A man, too, of his years and disposition!’  
‘I perceive in you a victim of parental tyranny, child,’ said Miss Crock. ‘We consign Sir Kaldur to perdition.’  
Zatanna giggled at that. ‘Oh, never! ‘Tis a model of prudence and the virtues! And over twenty years old at the very least!’  
Mr Crock flicked a speck of dust from his sleeve.  
‘And to escape this greybeard, hence the young Adonis yonder, I suppose?’  
Zatanna hung her head. ‘He – he was not very young either, I suppose,’ she confessed. ‘And I have been very silly, and wicked, I know. But indeed I thought him vastly more entertaining than Kaldur. You could not for your life imagine Kaldur excited, or in a scrape, or even hurried. And Klarion said such pretty things, and it was all so romantic I was misled.’  
‘The matter’s plain to the meanest intelligence, my dear,’ Mr Crock assured her, ‘I discover in myself a growing desire to meet the phlegmatic Sir Kaldur.’  
His sister laughed. ‘Ay, that’s to your taste. But what’s the next step?’  
‘Oh, she goes with us along to Happy Harbour. Pray, ma’am, may we know your name?’  
‘’Tis Zatanna Fate, sir. My father is Dr Zatara Fate. He is not well. I expect you may see him by and by, for I left a note for him, and he would be bound to find it.’  
‘We await his coming, then,’ said Miss Crock. ‘It solves the matter. My Lawrence, bespeak a bedchamber for Miss Fate.’  
A confiding hand was slipped into Robin’s as Mr Crock strolled away to the door. ‘Please will you call me Zatanna?’ said Miss Fate shyly.  
Mr Crock made an odd grimace at the panel of the door, and went through into the taproom.  
Mine host had barely recovered from his very natural bewilderment at finding that the supposed fugitive was still in his house when there came the sound of a chaise bowling at a rare speed along the road. It drew up at the inn, and in the light of the lamps, Mr Crock saw his servant jump down. He pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. ‘This should be the father,’ he said pensively. ‘Your fourth room will be wanted, host.’ He went back into the coffee room to find that Miss Zatanna was at the window already, peering out.  
‘Your father, as I believe,’ announced Mr Crock.  
‘I am afraid it is,’ agreed Miss Zatanna. ‘Oh lud! As I live, ‘tis Kaldur!’  
Miss Crock threw her brother a comical look. ‘And so your desires are fulfilled, dear Lawrence. We are all impatience, Zatanna.’  
Mr Crock stood by her chair and shook out a ruffle. The door opened to admit a large gentleman, who came in very leisurely.  
‘Lud, it’s a mammoth!’ said Miss Crock, for her brother’s private ear.  
‘Oh, are you jealous?’ he retorted.  
The large gentleman paused on the threshold and blandly surveyed the room. He was a very large gentleman indeed, with magnificent shoulders and a fine leg. He seemed rather to fill the room; he had certainly a presence, and a personality. His pale hair was shortly cropped, and he carried his hat under his arm. The hilt of a sword peeped out from between the folds of his greatcoat, but in his hand he held a cane.  
‘The gentleman would appear annoyed,’ murmured Mr Crock, looking at the lines about the newcomer’s mouth and square jowl.  
‘La, my dear, how can you say so?’ marvelled Miss Crock, seeing the large gentleman’s grey eyes calm and bored. She rose with an air, and swept a curtsy. The gentleman must not be allowed to dominate the room thus. It seemed he had the way of it. ‘Make your leg, child,’ she threw over her shoulder at Lawrence. ‘We are under observation.’  
The sternness about Sir Kaldur’s mouth vanished. He smiled and showed a row of very even white teeth. He bowed with an easy grace. ‘Madam, your most obedient! Sir, yours!’  
Mr Crock took Miss Zatanna by the hand. ‘Permit me to restore to you Miss Fate, sir,’ he said, ignoring an indignant protest from the lady.  
Sir Kaldur showed no desire to receive Miss Fate, who looked him defiantly between the eyes. He smiled still, but he did not offer to take her hand. ‘You should be punished, Zatanna,’ he said pleasantly.  
Miss Fate flushed. ‘’Deed, sir, and did you come for that purpose?’ she demanded.  
‘No, my dear, but I should be happy to benefit you that far.’  
Lawrence Crock was amused, and permitted his chuckle to be heard. ‘Faith, it’s a stern suitor.’  
‘You are – very rude – and – and – and hateful!’ declared Miss Fate, outraged.  
Sir Kaldur laid down his cane and his hat, and began to take off his greatcoat. As one who had no further interest in Miss Fate, he turned and held out a hand to Mr Crock. His hand was the colour of smooth chocolate and finely shaped, but it looked to have some strength.  
‘Sir,’ said he, smiling sleepily for all his grey eyes were alert beneath their rather heavy lids, ‘you will permit me to thank you on behalf of my colleague, Dr Zatara Fate, for your services to his daughter.’  
Mr Crock shook the hand firmly. Grey eyes met dark brown; the humorous look played around Mr Crock’s mouth. ‘Lud, here’s a solemnity!’ he said. ‘I am Miss Fate’s servant to command.’  
Miss Fate forgot her dignity. ‘Kal, ‘twas wonderful! His sword was out in a trice, and I thought he was about to run that odious Teekl right through the body, but just as it was too monstrously exciting for words the point seemed to flash upwards and the hilt caught Teekl on the chin.’ She demonstrated with a small fist to her own pretty chin. ‘He went down like a stone,’ she ended dramatically. Her glance fell on Miss Crock by the fire. ‘And Miss Crock too was splendid, Kal, for she pretended to swoon in Teekl’s arms.’  
Mr Crock looked down at his sister something quizzically. ‘My dear, I eclipse you,’ he murmured. He turned again to Sir Kaldur. ‘Thus we mourn our departed suitor. Now, where did you find our man Alfred?’ He began to pour wine and handed one glass to the large gentleman.  
‘On the road to Happy Harbour,’ Sir Kaldur replied. ‘Just before I saw my friend Mr Teekl. He was endeavouring to hide a chaise and horses, which – er – aroused my suspicions. He was induced to confide in me.’  
Mr Crock looked meditatively at that square handsome face. ‘I wonder why?’ he said, for he knew his Alfred.  
A singularly attractive smile crossed Sir Kaldur’s face. ‘My charm of manner, I believe,’ he said.  
There came a laugh from Miss Crock. ‘I begin to have a kindness for the large gentleman,’ she remarked to the room at large. ‘And you met the so dear Mr Teekl, sir?’  
‘Hardly, madam. I had rather say I saw the so dear Mr Teekl pass me in a cloud of – mud, I believe.’  
‘I wonder, did he see you?’ Miss Crock’s eyes were bright with laughter.  
‘I am almost persuaded that he did,’ said Sir Kaldur.   
‘Then I take it we are not to expect his return?’ Miss Crock cocked a knowing eyebrow.  
‘I hardly think so, madam,’ said Sir Kaldur placidly.  
Miss Crock looked at Miss Fate. ‘Why, child, I like the large gentleman, I protest,’ she said. ‘Pray, sir, have you dined?’  
‘So far I have not had the time, madam, but I have reason to hope the landlord is preparing dinner for me at this moment.’  
Mine host came in most opportunely then, with the serving maid behind him, carrying a loaded tray. A fresh cover was laid, a large fish placed before Sir Kaldur, and a fresh bottle uncorked.  
‘You permit, madam?’ Sir Kaldur bowed towards Miss Crock.  
‘Pray, sir, be seated. You will be ravenous.’  
‘I confess I hate to miss my dinner,’ said Sir Kaldur, and began to carve up the fish. ‘There is something of me to maintain, you see,’ he added with a twinkle, and a glance cast down his muscular build.  
Miss Fate cut in on Miss Crock’s laugh. ‘Food!’ she ejaculated scornfully, and tapped an impatient foot. Sir Kaldur paid no heed. ‘Well, Kal, you are come nigh on a hundred miles to rescue me, as I suppose, and now have you nothing at all to say but that you have missed your dinner?’  
‘That thought has been absorbing me for the last twenty miles,’ said Sir Kaldur imperturbably.  
‘And me in peril!’ cried the affronted Miss Fate.  
Sir Kaldur raised his eyes from the fish and looked coolly across at her. ‘Oh, were you in peril?’ he inquired. ‘I came merely to put an end to an indiscretion, as I thought.’  
‘Peril! At the hands of such a Monster!’ Miss Fate was indignant. ‘I wonder, sir, that you need ask.’  
Sir Kaldur poured wine for himself and Mr Crock. ‘My dear Zatanna,’ said he, ‘you have so frequently assured us that Mr Teekl is a model of all the virtues that I did you the honour to respect your judgement.’  
Miss Fate turned scarlet, and looked as though she was about to cry. ‘You didn’t, Kal! You are just being – disagreeable. And he’s not a model of virtue! He is an odious brute, and – and so are you!’  
‘Tut, child, the gentleman’s hungry, and will be the better for his fish,’ said Mr Crock.  
‘I am not a child!’ flashed Miss Fate, and was off in a swirl of skirts to Miss Crock’s side. From the shelter of Miss Crock’s arm she hurled a tearful defiance. ‘And I would sooner disappear with that Monster than marry you, Sir Kaldur!’  
Sir Kaldur remained unmoved. ‘My dear Zatanna, if this piece of absurdity was to escape my attentions, believe me it was not in the least necessary. So far as I am aware I have never asked you to marry me. Nor have I the smallest intention of so doing.’  
This pronouncement brought Miss Fate’s head up from Robin’s shoulder. In round-eyed astonishment she gazed at Sir Kaldur, busily engaged with a forkful of greens.  
‘I have to suppose,’ said Miss Crock sharply, ‘that the gentleman is original.’  
Mr Crock turned away to hide a laughing face. ‘These family arrangements!’ he said.  
‘But – but Father says –‘ began Miss Fate. ‘Why, Kal, don’t you want to marry me?’  
‘I do not,’ said Sir Kaldur.  
Miss Fate blinked, but she did not seem to be offended. ‘Why don’t you?’ she asked with naïve curiosity.  
At that Sir Kaldur looked up, and there was a twinkle in his eyes. ‘I suppose, Zatanna, because my taste is at fault.’  
‘Well!’ Miss Fate digested this in silence. She disengaged herself from Robin’s arm, and went slowly to the table. Sir Kaldur rose at her approach, and received one little hand in his large one. ‘Kal, will you tell Father?’ she asked.  
‘I have told him, my dear.’  
‘How did he take it?’ said Miss Fate anxiously.  
‘Philosophically, child.’  
‘I am so glad!’ said Miss Fate, with a relieved sigh. ‘If you don’t want to marry me, Kal, I can go home with a quiet mind. And I can even forgive you for being so disagreeable.’  
‘And I,’ said Sir Kaldur, ‘can finish my dinner.’


End file.
